


Outfits

by szhismine



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, M/M, McCree being McCree, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 15:38:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7690186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/szhismine/pseuds/szhismine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hanzo and McCree get into the Olympic spirit. Just a drabble based on the new summer skins!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Outfits

**Author's Note:**

> I freaking love McCree's new skin, and then I saw this http://parallelpie.tumblr.com/post/148381578765/the-new-merica-skin-i-cant-even and wrote a little something based on it ;) Please kudos/comment, I love feedback! :D

Hanzo shuffled his feet, trying to ignore the twinge of self-consciousness in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t remember the last time he dressed in real sportswear; perhaps since he was a teenager, or possibly longer. It had been at Lucio and Tracer’s insistence that they dress appropriately for such an event, an Overwatch tribute to the recently revived Olympics Games. At the eve of the Omnic Crisis the Games had been suspended indefinitely, and only now were they being re-introduced. It was a momentous occasion, and Winston had decided it be good press for them to support it. Team members were encouraged to dress up in the theme of their favourite events, representing their countries. It hadn’t taken Hanzo long to decide which event he wanted to support. He dressed simply, using active wear found in storage, though he made the chest guard and hip quiver himself. He had to admit he was curious to see what the others did.

A familiar jingling sound approached down the corridor, and Hanzo sighed and rolled his eyes. As far as he knew, spurs were not required for any sport. He should have known the cowboy would not take the assignment seriously. 

Jesse turned the corner, a huge grin plastered on his face as he took in Hanzo’s outfit. “Aw, an’ here I was hopin’ yer shorts would be shorter.” The archer turned, opening his mouth to answer, and froze.

Jesse was dressed even more outlandishly than usual, which Hanzo didn’t think possible until now. First thing he noticed were the stars and stripes he wore in lieu of his usual serape, and he couldn’t help but snort at the brazen patriotism. Jesse’s chest armor _and_ arm were covered in red plating instead of… no. It looked like the colour had simply been painted on over his usual gear. Even Peacekeeper hadn’t been spared from the garish makeover. Simple jeans and a flannel shirt completed the ensemble. Hanzo thought he looked ridiculous and over-the-top and so… _McCree_. “Where do you get these outfits?” He blurted out without thinking.

“Yeh like it? Made it myself.” Jesse winked and tipped his hat, not bothering to hide his pride at his getup. “With a lil help, o’ course.”

“Made it?” Hanzo wrinkled his nose. “When? You hid this from me?”

A deep belly laugh preceded the answer. “Well, I wasn’t exactly subtle ‘bout it. Yeh didn’t notice anythin’? Thought yeh were sharper than that, mister sniper.”

Hanzo scowled at the remark, but a memory tugged at him, and suddenly the pieces of a forgotten mystery fell into place.

**ONE WEEK AGO**

The sound of whistling, which punctuated some mechanical background noise, made Hanzo pause outside Jesse’s room. He was freshly returned from a mission, and had every intention to shower and change before meeting with the cowboy, but the odd sounds within made him hesitate.

Hanzo pressed his ear to the door. It took a moment for him to recognize the sound, and his eyebrows shot up in surprise. A sewing machine? He wasn’t aware Jesse had any talent for such things. Perhaps he was simply patching his favourite serape, the damn thing was barely holding together as it was.

“Make way, coming through!”

Torbjorn, the engineer, was brushing past him, carrying several cans of… something, he couldn’t make out the labels. The stout man didn’t bother knocking, just giving Hanzo a suspicious look before barging his way into Jesse’s room, muttering under his breath. Hanzo couldn’t hear Jesse’s response, but he could make out laughter. Deciding against intruding, he continued on to his room.

An hour later, refreshed, he knocked on Jesse’s door. He’d almost forgotten what he’d seen earlier, and there was no sign of any recent activity or guests; the man’s room was its usual chaotic mess. He was about to ask, but when Jesse began to greedily paw at him, it slipped his mind entirely.

*

Slapping his knee, Jesse nearly doubled over in laughter. “Y-yeh saw all that, an’ yeh never asked me 'bout it? That was a whole week ago!” He hooted and shoved Hanzo playfully. “Though I’m kinda glad yeh didn’t, just to see that look on yer face-”

With a sudden growl, Hanzo shoved Jesse back, pressing him against the wall. “Do not mock me.” His voice was low as he issued the warning, but the upturned corners of his mouth suggested the real meaning to his challenge.

A lazy smirk spread across Jesse’s face. “Now I wouldn’t dream o’ mockin’ yeh… not when yer in that outfit.” His metal hand reached out, brushing the leather chest guard Hanzo was wearing, before winding its way downwards. Fingers snapped at the waistband of his shorts, making Hanzo chuckle as he undraped the ridiculous flag around Jesse’s neck and let it fall to the floor. “I still do not understand what sport you think you are representing.”

“Ah, sports ain’t my thing no more. I’m just representin’ the good ol’ US of A.” The cowboy’s smile grew fond. “Although…”

“Hmm?” Hanzo pulled back, looking up at him in curiosity.

“Heh.” A faint blush painted Jesse’s cheeks. “I, uh, won a few equestrian competitions way, _way_ back in the day, at the New Mexico State Fair. Few years in a row, actually.”

Hanzo couldn’t help but smile at that. He could almost picture it, Jesse’s boyish face alive with excitement, holding up a medal, posing with his horse companion. “No wonder you are a cowboy.”

The taller man shrugged. “Well, yeh know what they say. Yeh can take the boy outta New Mexico but-”

The idiom was interrupted by Hanzo’s lips pressing roughly against Jesse’s, and the taller man quickly melted into the embrace. Briefly, Hanzo wondered how he’d explain their lateness to the others, but at the sound of Jesse’s belt unbuckling, he decided it didn’t matter.


End file.
